


March Hare Madness

by redhoodedwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crushes, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Domestic Fluff, Just all fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Nothing happens senior year, Pet fic, Post-Season/Series 04, Rabbits, Slow Burn, also reminder Derek has money to throw around so he does, also there is zero mistreatment of animals, and bunnies, bunny owner Derek Hale, except in the beginning and the end, if you can do that in 20k, just briefly, just in case there were worries, literally it's just sterek and a rabbit no one else, no supernatural chaos, pet owner Derek Hale, specifically one bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodedwolf/pseuds/redhoodedwolf
Summary: Derek Hale gets a rabbit. And then, shock of the century, everything turns out better than okay.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 29
Kudos: 500





	March Hare Madness

**Author's Note:**

> So I have a rabbit, therefore Derek Hale now has one. And of course Stiles wants them both. Thus, this fic, which became 51346x longer than I expected, as usual.  
> I do not consider myself a bunny expert!!! This is all based off of my own experience and opinions as a rabbit owner, but none of this is law! However, I do suggest if you are using practices with domesticated rabbits like caging them for 20+ hours a day and outdoor hutches to maybe reconsider? Just do your research, do what is best in your situation, and make sure your rabbit gets the love it deserves!  
> Some links to an article I references as well as the House Rabbit Society website with TONS of info:  
> https://www.thedodo.com/things-to-know-getting-rabbit-1340963451.html  
> https://rabbit.org/

Derek was at the pet store, purchasing his regular donations for the animal clinic, when he saw it. 

After years of using Alan Deaton’s practice for illicit werewolf (and other creature) affairs, Derek started feeling very guilty, because the materials they used and the cleaning their visits usually required afterwards was likely not cheap. So he’d approached Deaton and asked what he could do to help. Deaton had seemed surprised at his offer, but handed him a printout that listed all of the suggested items the community could donate or give, and at the bottom was also a link to an Amazon wishlist that had a few larger pricier items on it. 

After a few months, and after a few more necessary backroom visits, unfortunately, Derek had purchased the entirety of the Amazon wishlist as it stood and moved on to the list of things that the clinic could always use more of on a rolling basis.

This month, Deaton had subtly hinted that a litter of kittens had been dropped off, and they were all malnourished, and if only they could get the specialized cat food that the one pet store in town sold. Hint, hint. 

So Derek drove to the pet store. It looked exactly the same as every other store in the shopping area with its sandblasted peach exterior, so he was glad for the bright _PETZONE_ sign that was emblazoned on the roof. Most of the time, he would buy supplies online and have them shipped directly, but with how long shipping took, and with the way Deaton’s face had looked pained on behalf of the poor animals, Derek decided there was no need to pay extra for delivery when he could just go get it himself.

He’d called ahead to ensure this store (the only one in Beacon Hills, apparently) had the food in stock, and he was promised they did by a shockingly cheery voice that Derek had to wonder if it belonged to someone related to Kira. 

He drove the Toyota because of the extra space, and after getting out of the car, he popped the trunk and unfolded a plastic blue tarp over the floor of the trunk, just in case one of the bags decided to explode on the drive back to the clinic. 

Car prepared, he entered Petzone and then immediately forgot what he was there for in the first place.

Petzone was one of those stores that never lacked for fuzzy animals to coo over. Signs plastered next to pens and enclosures and cages stated where each animal was being hosted from. A couple mentioned Deaton’s clinic, and the rest were shelters in the area. 

There were about half a dozen dogs that he could see, each in their own pen, further back past the checkout. Perpendicular to the dog pens — which were latched closed on the back with regular cage doors, but the front, facing the store, was a wall of plexiglass so that everyone could see the dogs, and the dogs could see them — were the cat cages. They were built similarly, but smaller in size, and a couple had two cats per box. 

Right in the middle was birds, not many, but at least three different (expensive, Derek noted with a wide-eyed wince) colorful birds in hanging cages, tweeting every minute or so, seeming very happy to be hanging out in a pet store. 

Though, despite the adorable dogs and fluffy cats and sweet-sounding birds, there was one last collection of pets that seemed to be the center of attention for all the patrons. Several children were crowded around the glass-walled but topless enclosures that were built up on wooden boxes so that they were face-level to so many of the young kids. There were six in all, and each was home to several small furry rodents.

Ferrets, mice, guinea pigs, and rabbits drew the eye, but none more so than the rabbits.

And Derek was no exception.

Three out of the six pens housed rabbits, two on one side, one on the other. There were, from what Derek could see, about nine rabbits in total. They all looked tiny, no bigger than his hand, as they hopped around, munching on something in a bowl, gnawing on grass of some kind, and then would flop down all curled up in a way that Derek could only describe as a potato form. There were little plastic water bottles strapped to the sides of each pen, and there was also a plastic upturned bowl with holes that reminded Derek of those sandcastle molds that you would take to the beach to stuff with wet sand and quickly tip upside down and then pull it off to usually reveal a half-formed dome. 

Each rabbit was differently colored or marked. There was a smaller gray one that had drooping ears, a pair of black and white spotted, a trio of gold/blonde colored, and the rest were a mix of brown-ish orange and black.

Derek stood off to the side watching, arms crossed over his chest, as one of the employees helped a small child hold one of the golden ones. It kicked its legs before settling into the kid’s arms, and its ears pressed flat against their back, nose twitching a mile a minute. 

Derek was surprised at how clean the pens were. Despite bedding scattered along the bottom, there wasn’t a scent of pee and he didn’t see anything like poop. They must keep up with the cleaning really well. 

The ferret enclosure, however, he knew he would stay as far from as possible. They were cute, wiggling around through plastic tubing, but that smell was enough to make him fall back. 

The child seemingly was tired of the rabbit after a minute of holding it and let it drop back into its pen. It shook its back legs out before hopping over to the food bowl and then diverting towards the water bottle. 

“Can I help you find something, or are you just looking?”

Derek recognized the cherry voice as the phone employee from earlier that morning and turned to see a woman with bright green hair tied back into a low knot at the back of her head. 

“Uh, I’m actually here for some cat food, hold on, let me check the brand…” he pulled out his phone and just showed her the screen where a picture of the dry food was displayed. “I need two bags of these, and then two dozen cans,” he flicked to the next picture,” of this.”

“Oh, you were the one who called! Let me double check we’ve got enough and I’ll be right back with you!”

She hustled away, whispering the food brand and type to herself as she went. 

With nothing left to do but wait, Derek turned his gaze back to the rodent area where it seemed most people had drifted away from, as there was a direct open space between him and the mice pen. 

He approached slowly. Some animals, especially predators, could sense Derek and would react to him if he got too close. The animals at the clinic didn’t bother him as much, and he assumed it was because his scent was well and truly probably in the floors of the building by now. None of the dogs or cats seemed to be paying him mind, lots of attention given by other customers distracting them.

The mice gave no indication they cared about his presence as he stepped up next to the pen. They continued to run around, like they were sharks: if they stopped swimming. they would die. They made Derek tired just watching them, but they were certainly adorable and so tiny, especially the one exhausting itself on a plastic wheel that creaked with every turn. 

He glanced over to the pen next to the mice and found two rabbits. Now that he was closer, they were larger than they’d looked from farther back, but not by much. But they were probably still young and would likely continue to grow, however to what point Derek had no clue. 

The two rabbits were cuddled up next to one another, the gray with the large ears had them drooped over the white and black one’s back. Next to them was a small ceramic bowl that seemed to be filled with hard food pellets. 

A twitching nose appeared over the bowl, and Derek was surprised to note he’d missed seeing a third rabbit completely, but that was probably because its sleek white fur blended in with the white base of the pen.

It snagged some of the hay, which Derek had mistaken for grass earlier, that was in a nearby pile, and then escaped right back into a plastic dome that hid it so nearly, except that the yellow plastic was see-through. 

The rabbit looked up at him, nose twitching, he could hear its hyperactive heartbeat, and Derek stared into bright red eyes before it turned its back on him and chose to stare at the corner. 

“Excuse me?”

Derek turned towards the green-haired employee as she hustled back over to him. “I just checked the back and we have everything you were looking for! If you’d like, we can ring you up while we gather it all, and if you pull your car up right outside, we can load it in the trunk for you as well!”

“Oh, that’d be great,” he replied, but didn’t make a move, eyes sliding back to the rabbits.

The woman didn’t say anything for a moment, just waited calmly next to him, before asking, “Did you want to hold one?”

“What?” Derek pointed to himself, eyebrows raised. “Me?”

She beamed. “Yeah! If you’re interested. Were you looking to adopt?”

“Oh, no, I just came for the food,” Derek assured her with a waving hand. And yet.

He pursed his lips, shuffled his feet, and then added. “But, um, tell me about them anyway?”

The employee didn’t seem deterred at all and rattled off a spiel that sounded well-rehearsed. “Sure! Well, all our rabbits are between ten and twelve weeks old. Some of them are rescues, but most are from breeders Petzone has worked with in the area for over a decade now. They are a variety of breeds, as you can tell from their coloring, but breed doesn’t matter so much as body does. The long-haired types like lionheads and angoras, which that one, “she pointed toward one of the black and white bunnies in the pen across the way, “is a dwarf lionhead mix, we’re pretty sure. They require more grooming. And the gray lop over here is the only lop we have right now, and they difference with them is that they run a higher risk of ear infections, so that’s something you have to watch out for. In general, rabbits have weak necks and spines, so you have to be careful handling them, and their eyes are actually on the sides of their heads, which allows them a wider view, since they are prey animals and are always instinctively looking for trouble to run from. So when approaching them, you have to come from the side, so that they see you and don’t get spooked, because you’ll be in their blind spot if you come at them head-on and then get upset.”

Derek let her breathe before he asked, pointing towards the rabbit playing hide and seek, “And what about that one?”

The employee pursed her lips and smelled sharply of sadness. “A rescue. From what we can tell, its mother was likely owned by a magician, you know, the stereotypical white rabbit, but got abandoned with its siblings. This little one was the only one to survive. It’s fourteen weeks old, we’re pretty sure.”

“I thought you said they’re at most twelve?” he asked.

“The rest are, but that’s usually because they are bought or adopted before they get any older. Most people don’t go for the white rabbits anymore because of their eyes. Kids think they’re scary. It’s like how black cats are the most surrendered color of cat.” Derek nodded in understanding.

The white rabbit was still showing them his behind when the woman reached over and plucked the dome off of its back, and it spun around quickly in surprise. 

“Want to hold it?” she asked, gesturing with the plastic hut. 

The white rabbit stared up at him, and he had to admit it definitely wasn’t the cutest of the bunch (that honor went to the gray lop); it’s narrowed skull was tipped with a dusty gray nose that bore long dark whiskers that made it obvious this rabbit was also a rodent. And its eyes were a bold red, beady. And scared.

“No,” Derek said, maybe a little too abruptly and loudly. The poor thing’s heart sounded like it was ready to leave its chest, though Derek could tell from the elevated heart rates of the other bunnies at rest it wasn’t really in danger of that. He cleared his throat, not looking at the employee, not wanting to see what look she was using to cover up the obvious hurt she was feeling at his gruff response. “Um, so no one has shown any interest in it?”

He could hear her knotted hair swish against the back of her neck as she shook her head. 

The rabbit continued to stare at him, nose twitching only every few seconds now, though it did almost look like it was glaring at him. 

He shouldn’t. He had not planned for this. He had not thought this through. He should be responsible and not a spontaneous pet owner. That only called for disaster.

“What, uh, what all would I need?” he asked, wincing through his words. “For a rabbit.”

The woman looked shocked, but then the biggest smile burst across her face and she smelled victorious, despite the fact that she had not yet secured a sale (she did).

It took a half an hour and a lot of money later, but Derek finally pulled away from the curb, the PETZONE, sign mocking him in his rear-view mirror.

On the floor of the passenger side was a hard-sided cat carrier which held a smaller box filled with holes in which sat a snow-white bunny with Alpha-red eyes.

* * *

Derek dropped off the cat food to Deaton quickly, saying nothing about the trip, just piling it into the back room and ignoring the other large box and bags in the trunk. He quickly headed back to the loft, maybe pushing a bit too hard on the gas because the car was filled with the scent of terrified prey, and maybe Derek should have asked how rabbits felt about car rides before taking the detour. 

Once he got back to the loft, he took two trips to get everything upstairs, first taking the carrier up and placing it on the floor next to the couch before jogging back down to haul up the supplies, piling it into the service elevator rather than taking the stairs like usual. 

Finally, it was all in, and Derek looked around at it all and felt a bit in over his head. Despite their small size, rabbits apparently needed a lot of stuff. 

He tackled the largest box first and did the minor construction needed to place together all of the parts that made up the rabbit’s cage. It was a large plastic monstrosity that spread across the floor nearly four feet long and was over two feet high. It had two levels to it inside and a ramp connecting them.

Next, Derek tore open the bag of pine animal bedding and dumped handfuls of it onto the base. He fitted the triangle-shaped litter box into the corner and filled that with some of the bedding as well, to act as litter. 

He’d purchased the same small ceramic bowl as the rabbits in store were using for food and used it to scoop out some of the rabbit food mix he had in another bag. He paced that on the second level, so that the rabbit was more likely to exercise to get to their food. 

Lastly, he attached a hay basket to the inside, clipping it on to the wire wall, and stuffing it with alfalfa hay (complimentary when you buy the whole Rabbit Care Kit from Petzone!), and filled the plastic water bottle and affixed it to the opposite end. 

Content with a job well done, Derek examined the cage he had settled onto the coffee table for now. He’d think of a better place for it later. 

He turned to the somewhat abandoned star of the show. Lifting the cat carrier onto the couch, he could feel the rabbit who had been at rest suddenly jump up and jostle the box it was still in. 

He lifted the box gently out once he opened the front door of the carrier and positioned it over his knees with the front flap of the cage opened right in front of it. He popped the small box open, and the rabbit stared up at him with a speeding heart and angry eyes.

“Go into your house,” Derek ordered it in a soft voice, and when the rabbit stayed frozen still, he nudged it in the side with a few fingers and it snapped out of its daze. It hopped forward, right into the cage, and Derek quickly snapped the door shut, worried that if he were any slower, the rabbit would escape and he would be screwed. He had no idea how to pick up a rabbit properly. Maybe he _should_ have held it before leaving the store.

When Derek had asked if the rabbit had a name, he’d been told that a name was up to him. When he asked if the rabbit was a boy or a girl, the amused employee just shrugged. “We’re about sixty percent sure she’s a girl, but you won’t know unless you have a vet do an exam on her. She had a brief one done before she came to us, but she was super young, and when rabbits are babies, they like to hide their junk so it’s hard to tell until they’re a few months old what they are. Oh! And you should definitely get them spayed or neutered, because that joke ain’t a joke, they will procreate if given the opportunity. But they have to be closer to six months old for that. But you don’t want to wait _too_ long either, because the older they are, the more difficult the surgery becomes, even if it’s just a simple snip for boys. It’s tougher on the girls,” she explained with a tone of pity.

Derek feared asking any more questions. She reminded him a bit of Stiles, in that way. She was a Stiles/Kira mix, which he then shook his head to dispell immediately after thinking. 

The unnamed probably girl rabbit (Derek was going to assume for now) took stock of her living space. Derek watched her for a while as she nosed the water bottle but didn’t drink anything, sniffed the litter box, bounced very quickly up the ramp and nosed the food bowl but again declined to ingest its contents, and then repeated the pattern a few times before nibbling on a stalk of hay and plopping down, back into her potato stance. 

Well, she seemed fine, so Derek decided not to worry about her. He’d take her to Deaton tomorrow (though he should probably call and book an actual appointment) to confirm if she was a girl, and have his expert eyes make sure she was as healthy as the store claimed she was. 

He dragged the bags of hay, food pellets, and bedding against the wall, so that they were out of the way, and then looked around the room. It was weird, having another living creature in his loft with him full-time. Cora was traveling, Isaac didn’t even live in Beacon Hills anymore, and the others… well, they weren’t here, and Peter was gone, thank Christ. 

But Derek did get lonely, even he could admit it to himself. So at least there would be a listening recipient to his one-off comments like, “What should I make for dinner?” or, “This doesn’t make any sense!” which was much more often used in times of supernatural strife. 

Checking his fridge, however, the first question became much more applicable as he noticed it was near empty. He grabbed his keys and was about to leave again, but he doubled back to check that the latch on the rabbit cage was secure. It was, and Derek exhaled.

“Um, you be good,” Derek told the white fluff ball. “I’ll name you when I get back.” The rabbit just stared at him, its heartbeat ratcheting up. “Right.” Derek leaned back. “Need anything from the store?”

There was no response, obviously, but it did give Derek pause.

He pulled out his phone and typed _What do rabbits eat?_ into Google.

He was not the first to ask this, as Google filled in half of his sentence before the letters were pressed. 

Hay, was the main thing the internet told him, but he already had that. Surprisingly, one source told him carrots were to be only given sparingly, and some rabbits didn’t even like them. But they did need fresh greens to eat, too, so Derek added “lettuce” to his grocery list before setting out. 

The vegetable aisle had never looked so daunting to Derek before. He ate well, most days, and salad made an appearance multiple times a week, but he always just purchased a pre-mixed salad in a bag and a head of iceberg lettuce and called it a day. Not even considering the fresh-fresh produce, there were plastic cases of a variety of greens. 50/50, Spring Mix, Herb Blend, Spinach, Romaine, Baby Spinach, Baby Romaine, Baby Lettuces, Baby Arugula, Jesus so many types of baby lettuces. 

He quickly googled for the best type of lettuce to feed rabbits, and Romaine was bright bold on the front, so he grabbed two packages of that and high tailed it out of the vegetable section.

When he got home, he stared at the lettuce once everything was put away and consulted Google once more. Google told him that for every two pounds the rabbit weighed, a cup of lettuce should be fed to them once a day. Derek had no clue how much No Name weighed yet, though he guessed at least five pounds, so he settled for scooping a large handful of lettuce into his hand and decided the rabbit wouldn’t die overnight if he was either underfeeding it or overfeeding it.

No Name was on the second level when he approached and made no moves as he opened the door and dropped the lettuce to the base of the cage. Once Derek had backed far enough away, she hopped down to examine the lettuce, nosed it around, sniffed it, took two bites, and then ignored it.

Well, maybe she wasn’t hungry yet. Or maybe Derek had bought the poisonous Romaine lettuce. Or maybe she just didn’t like Derek.

Though number two was up there, the third option was, usually, the most popular choice.

Maybe giving her a name would help. At least Derek would have something to call her when he showed up to Deaton’s tomorrow, suddenly a pet owner. 

Google had yet to steer him wrong (as far as he could tell), so he asked about the best names for white bunnies and was shown all of the basic classics. 

Angel and Snowflake were automatic _no_ s. Chalky just sounded weird and Arctic just didn’t sound like a name. Quartz was an interesting choice, but it didn’t seem to fit Derek’s pure white rabbit. A couple of the suggested names were just types of foods, which Derek knew he would get so much shit over if he named his prey-animal pet after _food_. 

He didn’t want to go with anything too feminine, in case the rabbit was actually a boy, but he supposed that really wouldn’t matter to a rabbit. Still, his rabbit didn’t look feminine at all anyway, or masculine, it just looked more severe. Angry. She looked like a rabbit with trust issues.

Yes, Derek was seeing the humor in all of this. 

Usagi was one he stalled on, saying the name aloud a few times, and seriously considered it, until Derek realized it was just the Japanese word for rabbit. It sounded nice, but wasn’t really what he was looking for.

Derek looked over to his rabbit. She was still ignoring the lettuce. 

“ _Coneja_ ,” he scolded, and the rabbit’s ear twitched towards him. He smirked. “So that got your attention? Fine. _Coney_. That’s your name.”

Coney continued to ignore him and the lettuce and hopped around lazily, got a drink of water, and then went to the second level to ignore him some more. 

Well, even if Coney wasn’t going to eat, Derek didn’t have to follow her example. He now had a fridge full of food (and plenty of lettuce) and literally nothing else to do with his time. 

He was twenty-four, pack-adjacent, a demoted Beta, unemployed, and not in the middle of supernatural peril. What else was there to do but eat?

* * *

He scheduled an appointment online with Deaton’s clinic for a small animal basic exam for the afternoon, so Derek went for a run in the morning after adding another handful of lettuce to Coney’s cage. The lettuce from yesterday was missing, but the water bottle was still half full and the regular food bowl looked untouched. Derek figured he’d ask Deaton about it. Coney seemed fine, steady but fast heartbeat, glare straight at him, the usual. 

After a quick lunch, Derek spent the time leading up to the appointment trying to figure out how to get Coney into the carrier. 

At first, he just opened the door, pressed it against the cage’s opening, and hoped Coney would hop in, but she was less than enthused and had been hiding on the second level ever since.

The one time Derek had reached in to try and nudge her down the ramp, she’d spun abruptly and bit him on the hand.

For such a small creature the bite hurt. Derek healed immediately, but the sting of pain wasn’t minor, so he retracted his hand quickly and resolved to find a different approach.

Google was unhelpful this time as everyone replied to a similar query on some online pet forum with, “just pick them up and put them in real quick.” Some recommended covering them with a towel, because they were less afraid when they couldn’t see, but that sounded a bit backwards to Derek. Then again, tiny animal brain. 

One person reminded them to have “yummy noms” waiting for them in the carrier, so Derek tossed some lettuce into it and then tried the door trick again. Coney was still ignoring him, and thus the carrier, but Derek could be patient. Sure, they only had a half an hour before they needed to leave, but he could be patient.

_Twenty minutes later_ , Derek’s knees were cramping, but Coney had half of her body in the carrier, and Derek was too worried she’d just grab the lettuce and run so he tipped it slightly so that she slid in a bit and quickly closed the door and righted it. 

Unimpressed red eyes stared at him from between hard plastic slats. “Sorry,” Derek told her with a shrug. 

His Google ask regarding rabbits and car rides was a pretty unanimous, “they hate it,” so he hoped vet visits wouldn’t have to become a regular thing. He wasn’t worried about paying, thankfully, and she didn’t smell sick, but she also didn’t seem to be eating. So he worried Deaton would find something internal.

He took the Camaro this time, because it was a smoother ride and he hoped that would be better for Coney, and made sure the carrier was secured between the floor and the passenger seat before driving. 

Entering through the front door of the clinic was a weird feeling, and it was even weirder when he met the narrowed eyes of Scott as he shuffled, in, Coney’s carrier clasped in one hand down at his side. She had shuffled around during the walk between the parking lot and the clinic, but she stilled after a minute. 

“Uh, I thought maybe the system was wrong. You actually booked an appointment?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yes, Scott, I’m here for an appointment. Can I get checked in now?”

Scott sprang to action. “Yeah, yeah, just sign in on this sheet and let me confirm a few things.” He clicked around on the aged desktop behind the counter, and Derek thought he might ask Deaton if they needed an upgrade for his next few donations.

“So, this is just a general check-up, right?” Scott asked, and Derek grunted in agreement. Scott nodded, clicking a few things. “For a rabbit?” Derek nodded.

Scott leaned over the counter and stared down at the carrier in his hand, and a soft smile crossed his face. “Did you find him in the preserve?” Scott asked.

“No,” Derek replied, not really wanting to discuss anything with the teenage True Alpha right now, or preferably ever. 

If he’d been paying attention and not focusing on Coney’s anxiety, he would have sensed Scott from the parking lot and not entered until exactly the appointment time to eliminate any risk of falsified small talk. 

Scott clearly wanted to say more, but then Coney started rocking the carrier in Derek’s hand, and he quickly held it up and settled it with a hand on its base. Then Derek and Scott both heard Deaton approaching from one of the exam rooms half a minute before he rounded the corner and gave Derek that small flat smile of his. 

“Derek, come on back.”

Derek gave Scott a short nod before, still clutching the carrier steadily to his chest while Coney hopped from corner to corner, he followed Deaton through the door into the back hallway with the few exam rooms. 

Deaton seated himself at a small desk perpendicular to the exam table, and Derek could see a patient form pulled up on the computer screen. “You can set the carrier down on the table,” Deaton instructed, and Derek followed. Coney stopped moving around once she was back on solid ground, and Derek wondered how much he’d been bumping her around unknowingly. 

“So from what you filled out when you made the appointment, we have a rabbit named Connie?”

“ _Coney_ ,” Derek corrected his pronunciation. “Like coneja.”

Deaton hummed. “So this is a girl.”

“They thought so, at the pet store, but they also said sometimes it’s hard to tell when they’re young,” Derek explained.

Deaton looked at him in surprise. “So you didn’t just find a wild domesticated rabbit in the preserve?”

Derek resisted the urge to scowl. “No. Why would I?”

Deaton shrugged. “Rabbits are the third most abandoned pet species, and often times people just surrender them back into the wild, not realizing that they have no idea _how_ to live in the wild, and often don’t live for more than a few days.”

Derek’s fingers curled protectively over the top of the carrier. “No. I adopted her. Bought her. Whatever.”

“Okay,” Deaton said, and didn’t push any further. “Scott.”

Scott entered the room then, not glancing at Derek, and stood at the side of the table.

“Scott is going to hold Coney while I do a brief examination.”

Not seeing that any other option was available, and Derek certainly wasn’t going to suggest he hold down Coney because he had no clue of the proper ways to hold her, he simply undid the latch on the carrier. 

Coney didn’t move. She stared out of the opening, scrunching herself up against the back wall.

Scott reached forward to pull her out. Derek warned, “Careful, she bites.”

Scott arched an eyebrow in surprise but gently lifted Coney out of the carrier, which Derek lowered down to the floor at his feet, and let her feet touch down on the table.

He kept two hands on either side of her as she tried to find a grip, unsuccessfully, on the slick surface. Deaton snapped on a pair of gloves and started the examination a moment later.

Coney didn’t seem to care about Scott’s handling of her, though her heartbeat was quick and she kicked her back legs out when he lifted her up for Deaton to examine her belly.

“Definitely a girl,” Deaton confirmed, and Derek nodded. “I would suggest you get her spayed in a few months. You said she’s about fourteen weeks old?” Derek nodded again. “Yes, in a few months. Unfortunately, I would not be able to perform such a service here. You’d need to take her to an animal hospital that specializes in small animals like rabbits. I can send you a few recommendations of surgeons I have referred to before. I can do small checkups like this, but I can only do further specific examinations on larger species.”

Derek was a little wary of going to another vet that he didn’t know or trust, but knew that for every first-time pet owner that was the reality. Not everyone hijacked a vet’s office for secret rendezvous. 

“She seems perfectly healthy,” Deaton continued. “Scott, can you get the scale?” Deaton took hold of Coney as Scott grabbed the flat scale off of the floor tucked against the desk and settled it onto the table. Deaton gently lifted Coney so that she rested on the scale, his fingertips barely holding her in place as the numbers flashed across the screen, upside down to Derek. 

“About six pounds. I’d expect she won’t weigh much more, maybe eight by the time she has fully matured, but she is definitely a dwarf breed.” The scale was removed, and Coney stared up at Derek with tiny betrayed eyes, and Derek sent her a mental apology for the poking and prodding. 

“Most often rabbits don’t need to be seen by a vet unless you have a specific worry regarding their condition,” Deaton explained. “Before and after surgery, she will have a pre and post op appointment, but after that unless you have concerns, she will not need to frequent the animal hospital.”

“What if she doesn’t eat?” Derek asked.

“Has she eaten at all since you brought her home?” Deaton inquired back.

Derek nodded. “She had some lettuce yesterday and looks like she ate some of the stuff I’d put in her carrier. But she didn’t eat any of the food pellets from what I could tell.”

“When did you get her?”

“Yesterday?”

Deaton exhaled. “Ah, that explains it. Like any animal, she is trying to get used to her new environment, and often times for prey animals such as rabbits it can take twenty-four to forty-eight hours for them to relax enough to go back to normal eating habits.” Derek’s shoulders slumped as he felt the tension run out of his body. “The main thing is to just make sure you keep the hay stock supplied and available for her, because that is a primary part of her diet.”

Deaton had no further comments other than if he had any further worries to give him a call first before setting up an appointment with a specialist.

Scott got Coney back into the carrier without issue and left without a word.

Derek finished up with Deaton, paying the sixty-some dollar fee for the appointment with his card, and then leaving with Coney held against his chest, to minimize the movement. 

Once they were back to the loft, Derek coaxed Coney back into her cage without issue. She must have been getting used to the place as her safe zone, because she hopped right on out and into it, and headed for the litter box. There were a few dark-brown balls of what Derek assumed were poop in the plastic triangle, but he didn’t really feel the desire to investigate further. 

The only thing that still bothered Derek was that he was unsure of how to get Coney to relax and feel safe in her new home.

So back to Google he went. 

_Let your rabbit explore at their own pace_ , one site instructed. _Once they become acclimated to their area, then you can get them acclimated to you. When moving to a new location, allow for up to three days, especially for rabbits who dislike change, for adjustments. If this rabbit is new to you or a new member of the household, just spend time around them doing what you normally would. Sit near them and read or watch a movie. Let them explore you first. Once they come to recognize you aren’t a threat, that is when the bonding will begin!_

Derek spent the afternoon sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, back against the couch, a pillow under his ass to soften the concrete floor, and leveled his laptop in his lap. He watched a movie, then stood and made lunch before bringing it back to eat, and slid a bit of apple (which was recommended as _a treat you and your rabbit could share!_ ) between the bars of the cage. 

Coney looked at it distrustfully, but when Derek left to the bathroom, it was gone by the time he returned. 

* * *

Derek wasn’t surprised when the next morning Stiles appeared at his door, shouting, “Dude, Scott told me you got a _bunny_! Did you really get—”

He stopped abruptly, probably because he received his answer. Coney’s cage was still sitting on the coffee table, in plain view of the door.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he breathed and rushed the cage. He squinted and stared. “Not super cute,” he commented, with a disappointed voice.

Derek growled, passing through into the living room from the kitchen. “Stiles, what are you doing here?”

“Scott told me about your _visit_ yesterday. Did you really name her after the Spanish word for rabbit?”

“I call her Coney,” Derek replied, not confirming the truth. “And you didn't answer my question.”

Stiles rolled his eyes so fiercely Derek worried he’d lose them in the back of his skull. “Obviously I’m here to see her.” He plopped onto the floor, his face not even an inch away from the cage door. “She’s got Alpha eyes. They’re kinda scary.”

“You’re afraid of a tiny rabbit?” Derek asked with a snort, crossing his arms and cocking his hip.

Stiles imitated his position while twisting his torso and lifting his chin so that he could see Derek from behind the cage, so that it looked more like a ridiculous mockery against himself. But the smirk on his face was victorious. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe. Scott told me something about her being a _biter_.”

Derek bit his lip. Dammit Scott.

“She isn’t an exhibit at the zoo,” Derek shot back, jumping over that conversation. “She doesn’t do much.”

“Neither do animals at the zoo,” Stiles countered, wiggling his fingers through the bars in a sort-of wave to Coney.

“So where’s my price of admission?” Derek asked, holding a hand out in front of him, palm up.

Stiles sat back on his haunches and gave him an unimpressed look. “The price of my company is invaluable.”

Derek sighed deeply. There was never going to be a winner of this conversation, and even if Derek did win, he would still lose because Stiles would have still annoyed him. 

Derek went back into the kitchen and just tried to forget that Stiles was even there. He finished frying some eggs in the bacon-greased pan and scraped them onto his plate before grabbing some silverware and making for the couch.

Stiles hadn’t moved, but still ignoring him, Derek sat in the corner, on the side of the couch closest to where Coney was currently ignoring _him_ inside of the cage.

He tucked into his breakfast. A minute later, Stiles stood and left the room, and Derek smirked when he heard a groan come from the kitchen thirty seconds later.

“You took _all_ the bacon?” was the complaint, his head emerging from around the corner. 

Derek picked up a nice and greasy slice and took a bite of it, the bacon snapping satisfyingly under his teeth, and he exaggerated a groan of elation. 

Stiles grumbled some choice phrases under his breath, though they weren’t ever hidden from Derek and clearly not meant to be, and then the gas stove clicked to life a moment later. 

When Stiles returned with his own plate of eggs and toast, he took the other end of the couch and they both ate their meals in silence, watching Coney twitch her nose and do nothing else of note. 

Unable to sit quietly for long, Stiles shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth and then jabbed his utensil in Coney’s direction, asking with full cheeks, “So you let her run around in the preserve?”

Derek arched an eyebrow. “No?”

From what Deaton had said about people abandoning rabbits in the woods, thinking they would survive, Derek had surmised that being outside would probably not be great for them. Even with werewolf supervision, if a bird came down and scooped Coney up—

Derek didn’t even want to finish his thought. 

Stiles hummed, then swallowed his mouthful. “Had a friend, well, sort of friend, anyways, and in elementary school he had a birthday party at his house, and he had this _ginormous_ rabbit hutch in his backyard. We were all _fascinated_.”

“Let me guess, they were gone within a year,” Derek surmised, knowing how Stiles’ stories went.

“Yep,” Stiles popped the _p_. “He said they ran away like two months later, but he had like six rabbits. But my dad told me not to tell him anything.”

Derek snorted. Of course.

“I had a python,” Stiles mentioned, and Derek turned to look at him, surprised. Stiles grinned at him. “Right? He was super cool, but, uh, I got really lazy taking care of him after Mom, you know, and it wasn’t like snakes are _super_ expensive, but they’re not cheap, you have to pay for their food, and once we were down to a one-income household making less than half paying the same bills… it was nicer to take him to a rescue. Think he lives in Arizona now.”

“How long do pythons live?” Derek asked.

“Thirty years, on average,” Stiles replied immediately, and of course he knew the answer. “What about rabbits?”

Derek had no idea. But before he could consult his most-used website, Stiles was already on it. 

“Rabbits average ten to eleven years, wow. I guess I always just saw rabbits like guinea pigs and hamsters that rarely survive from one birthday to the next. Or maybe that’s because kids can’t be trusted to take care of a pet.”

Derek looked at Coney’s litter box. He’d dumped it and cleaned it thoroughly this morning, but it already looked nearly full again. Jesus, how much do rabbits shit? 

That was not a question he wanted to voice aloud, because Stiles would have the answer for him immediately, and Derek would rather not know that statistic. 

“Ooh, _The Dodo_ has ‘The Biggest Mistakes You Can Make As A New Rabbit Owner,’ let’s learn.“ Stiles cleared his throat, and Derek braced himself. “‘ _Keeping your rabbit outside._ Keeping a rabbit outdoors cuts his average life span in _half_. Outdoor rabbits face extremes of heat and cold, risk of illness and predators.’ Gasp! ‘Wherever you live, there are wild animals who want to eat. your. bunny— and even if they don't get inside his hutch, a rabbit can have a heart attack just from seeing a predator outside his cage.’” Stiles glanced at Derek and mimicked a snarl and gnash of teeth. Derek curled his lips up and flashed his fangs. 

“Don’t tell me you do that to Coney,” Stiles chastised.

“Of course not,” Derek grumbled with an eye roll.

Stiles turned back to his phone and kept on dramatically relaying the article. “ _’Buying a rabbit for your children._ Rabbits are not easy starter pets— in fact, they're probably one of the worst pets for children.’ See? That’s what I was saying! I wonder…” Stiles trailed off, fingers back flying over his phone screen. “ _Ahh_. Hamsters live two to three years, so I guess that’s why they’re the go-to. Guinea pigs can live up to eight years, though!”

Derek leveled his plate on the arm of the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. “Wow, I really do feel like I’m at the zoo now. Children randomly reading off facts about the animals around them.” Derek stared at Stiles with a bland look.

Stiles returned it. “I apologize that my conversation is not more scintillating for you.”

“Why _are_ you making conversation with me?” Derek asked, honestly curious. “This is the first time we’ve talked since—”

“Mexico?” Stiles cut in, a bite of annoyance in his voice. “Yeah, I’m aware. Well, if you told me you were _back_ —”

“Why would you have wanted to know?” Derek asked, shaking his head in confusion. 

Stiles pursed his lips and huffed out through his nose. “It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “It just would have been nice. Courtesy. Saved your life enough times, I feel like you owe it to me to let me know it’s still, you know, going.”

“Stiles, we text,” Derek argued though he had to admit since moving back a little over two months ago at the beginning of the year, he’d been keeping his head down purposefully and only replying briefly to anyone in Beacon Hills. “I though Scott would have told you. I’m sure he knew.”

“Scott’s busy,” Stiles said, and his tone told Derek not to poke that specific bear. 

They both stared down at their empty plates. Derek stood, and held out a hand towards Stiles to take his. A flash of surprise lit up in Stiles’ eyes, but he passed the plate to him without a word. A non-verbal apology and acceptance. 

Derek loaded the plates into the dish washer and heard Stiles say, “Her hay thingy is empty, and I think she’s _pissed_.”

Derek entered back into the room and headed for the bag of hay that was dwindling he swore by the hour with the amount he filled that thing. He gathered up another handful of stalks and crammed them into the tiny feeder, the ends sticking out of the slats on the sides facing Coney. 

Coney ran for the hay as soon as it was within eyesight, and maybe Stiles was right, maybe she was upset. 

“Now that looked like a bunny smile!” Stiles crouched down on the floor and held his phone up in front of the cage, snapping pictures of Coney. “Okay, _now_ she’s cute. Look at how her eyes lit up, Derek!”

Derek could see what he meant. Her red eyes that usually were turned away from him were staring straight out and they were blown open wide and shining, and happiness was the only way to describe it.

“Who knew the way to a rabbit’s heart was hay?” Derek grumbled, plopping down onto the floor next to Stiles and watching the photo shoot. 

Stiles took one when Coney’s tongue happened to flick out, and he said, “Send me that one.”

“This is _totally_ a zoo,” Stiles exclaimed.

* * *

Stiles left not long after, claiming to have afternoon lacrosse practice. Derek didn’t sense a lie, and he knew Stiles was still on the team, but perhaps the irregularity of his heart when he said goodbye had something to do with his oddness regarding him and Scott.

Derek wasn’t going to pry, because it wasn’t his place and he didn’t care, really, he didn’t.

The momentary excitement surrounding the arrival of new hay disappeared quickly, and Coney was back to ignoring him.

Derek thought about the article Stiles had been reading aloud and wondered what the other big mistakes rabbit owners make were.

It took him a few minutes to find, because he hadn’t remembered what site Stiles had found it on, but he eventually pulled it up and skipped through the first two facts and got to the third: trusting the pet store.

_Uh-oh._ Derek started to feel nervous. 

_Walk into any pet store and you'll likely see a long row of vibrantly colored treats and interesting-looking foods for rabbits. Unfortunately, these products are often unhealthy and even dangerous. Many are too high in sugar and can cause potentially fatal intestinal stasis— others contain ingredients like seeds that rabbits aren't designed to digest._

Derek’s eyes strayed to the bag of rabbit food in the corner, filled with pellets and other Fruity Pebbles-looking things and felt a lump form in his throat.

He kept reading. 

_Rabbits have a complicated diet, but the basics are simple: unlimited water and hay, a daily serving of vegetables and a small amount of plain pellets, which should be a supplement rather than the bulk of your rabbit's diet. Fruit and vegetables are perfect for the occasional treat._

Okay, so he hadn’t completely screwed up and nearly killed his rabbit in the first week. He’d stayed away from carrots and other cartoon clichés, feeding the recommended one cup of lettuce per two pounds a day. But he should probably reduce the pellets in the bowl. Or throw them out entirely. 

Derek looked at the near-empty water bottle and the hay container that was already half gone. He winced, as if he’d been hit. 

The article continued with the fourth subject: Locking your rabbit up.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Derek moaned, rubbing a hand over his face, but he had to keep reading. 

_So you moved your rabbit inside, but now what? Many cages sold by pet stores are far too small for even a young rabbit, let alone a grown one. Keeping them in these tiny cages can cause a range of health problems, including obesity and even deformities if they're not able to move around naturally._

No wonder she glared at him constantly. 

_It's also cruel. Rabbits are smart, social and highly curious, and they need to be able to explore their surroundings. They're also incredibly active, and love to run and jump. The House Rabbit Society recommends at least 8 square feet of housing with at least 24 square feet of exercise space, which the rabbits can access at least five hours per day._

Derek glanced at the cage. That was definitely not enough exercise space. It barely counted as living space. 

He had yet to see Coney run or jump. No wonder, she’d bang her head on the ceiling.

_And that's the minimum. Many rabbit owners choose to let their rabbits have free range of their house (after rabbit-proofing them, of course) just like a dog or cat would._

Derek glanced around. The loft was still pretty sparse, even after accruing a few extra furniture items like a new couch and coffee table. But the floor was concrete. He didn’t know how much traction Coney would be able to get on the bare floor. Shit, he was going to have to get a rug.

Section five talked about not spaying or neutering, which Derek was glad he had yet to screw that up at least. He had planned to, since Deaton and the Petzone employee both suggested it, but now he definitely would. He made a note in his calendar around the time that Coney would be six months old to make an appointment. 

The rest of the article covered not bathing a rabbit, not leaving them alone and ignoring possible hidden illnesses, trying to cuddle which most rabbits hated, and not realizing the longevity of their life span. 

Derek looked at the cage and then over at the pile of rabbit things he’d purchased. He was going to have to scrap it all, wasn’t he? Well, maybe not the hay, and he was correct with the lettuce-feeding, but the rest? Derek was starting fresh, new.

Coney was staring at him, because Derek had zoned out and was looking right at her, and she was curled up in that potato position that Derek was starting to think might not mean something as good as it was cute. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said to her.

Failed as an Alpha. So of course he failed as a pet owner. He really needed to stop making gut-feeling decisions. 

But he was going to do this right. Derek was going to become the Ultimate Rabbit Owner. Derek tossed his phone on to the couch and stood to get his laptop from the upstairs office. It was time to take a page from Stiles’ book and look for the answers to every question he could think of. 

* * *

Derek spent the day scouring the House Rabbit Society website, reading all of their posts regarding what to feed a rabbit, how to rabbit-proof a house, how to groom your rabbit, and everything in between. After that, he moved over to YouTube where he watched the backlogs of the few rabbit-dedicated channels on how they set up their own apartments. Some even had dedicated rooms for their rabbits, though even they all admitted it was over the top. But that was apparently the fun part of it.

Derek threw out the rabbit “feed,” dumped the bowl of it that he gingerly removed from the cage, afraid of getting his hand nipped again, and refilled the ceramic bowl with water. He trashed the water bottle, because it was a far less effective and more difficult way for rabbits to drink. 

For now, he filled the entire bottom level of the cage with hay, though apparently even that was the wrong kind, because Coney was old enough to be eating Timothy hay rather than Alfalfa, which was what was given to babies to start with because it was more fibrous and would aid digestion. 

Derek did next-day delivery online, paying out the ass, for a box of timothy hay, timothy hay pellets (which he would only give a half a cup a day of), a medium-sized cat litter box, paper-based bedding (because despite it having a cute rabbit on the side, wood shaving beddings emit gasses that cause respiratory and liver damage, and clay litter could be eaten and cause intestinal blockage) to use as litter, liners for the litter box (to make clean-up easier), and he figured the boxes everything came in he could de and reconstruct into a hidey-hole and other structures for Coney to chew.

Besides the basic needs, Derek purchased a puppy play pen. It was a wide circular pen made of metal grid panels connected together. There was plenty of space to set up the litter box, which he would also keep the hay in, because apparently rabbit ate while they went? Kinda gross, but who was Derek to judge. Coney could do whatever she wanted. Derek had _caged_ her. He wasn’t sure he’d ever not feel guilty about it. 

So the litter box would fit, plus the water bowl and whatever he used the cardboard to build, and hopefully be enough space leftover for Derek to sit in there too, so that he could bond with Coney while being on the same level. 

Derek felt that for the first re-buy, he had covered a lot of bases. 

When everything arrived the next day, Derek got to work. He made the litter box, filling one half of it with hay and the other half with bedding. Looking at the size of it in comparison to the tiny triangle-shaped one in the cage was so amusing it was depressing. To reinforce that the litter box was what it was, he let some of the pellets collected in the old litter fall onto the new, so that maybe Coney would recognize it by scent association. 

He just really didn’t want to deal with potty training a rabbit. 

The pen was easy to construct, and he did so immediately. He set it up in the empty zone between his sleeping space and the living space, in front of the giant window. Fresh water in the bowl and a kitchen plate topped with salad and a handful of the correct pellets was sat in the middle of the pen. 

Derek couldn’t make Coney wait any longer. He carefully lowered the cage into the pen and opened the door, stepping away, letting her take her time.

He watched from the couch as Coney stayed put, and then sniffed at the open door, and then ran back inside, and then approached the door again and slowly crept down the ramp, feet sliding against the new surface of the floor.

Shit, a rug, Derek had forgotten. Thankfully, Coney wasn’t deterred, for she had spotted the food, and she was determined to get to it, no matter the floor situation.

While Coney was distracted with the salad, Derek lifted the cage out of the pen and tucked it in his Fail pile of stuff to take down to the garbage room. 

All of the sources said that Coney would take a while to get used to her new space before she could get comfortable, so Derek left her to her own devices, snagging one of the smaller cardboard boxes and an exacto knife. He cut off the flaps and then carved a hole in on one side and a hole on the other, large enough that Coney could get through without issue, but not so big that he could put his own head through it.

Once he finished his simple masterpiece, Derek approached then pen slowly, though that didn’t stop Coney from diving into the litter box at the first recognition of movement towards her. Derek tried not to take it personally. Everyone on the internet said not to. 

He’d watched a couple videos of people creating cardboard castles for their rabbits, and while they turned out looking pretty interesting, Derek resisted the creative urge. 

He plopped the mutilated box onto the ground in the pen and then stood back to watch. Derek thought back to Stiles’ zoo joke and felt it as the wary Coney inched nose-first towards the box, nobbling on the edge of the cut cardboard before jumping in and disappearing. Derek mentally cheered.

He remembered how Coney had looked in the pet store, hiding her frankly too-large body under a too-small plastic hut. Maybe she felt most at peace hiding. Derek could understand that.

* * *

Derek could hear the familiar rumbling of a Jeep nearby, so he raised his head and let out a world-weary sign, ignoring the way his heart skipped in his chest. He wasn’t excited to see Stiles, specifically. Before him barging in the day before, Derek hadn’t seen him for months. And Derek was used to the quiet loft without visitors, even liked it, some days.

Peter stopped by, once, the day after he moved back, the weirdest backwards apology on his lips, and then fled the town and likely the state, and Derek hoped he would not be a return visitor. 

Derek glanced over to see how Coney was doing. He’d left her alone for the last few hours after getting everything set up, popping out of the loft to do some shopping and take a run, and she was still alive when he returned, side-eyeing him as he re-entered the space, like she was suspicious he was going to change something else up again. 

Derek’s first thought when he laid eyes on her was “good lord her back legs were ginormous.” His second thought was accompanied with a jolt of joy, because she was _lounging_. She would never have been able to do this inside of the cage that just looked tinier and tinier to Derek every time he visualized it.

Her front paws were tucked up under her chin, head positioned between the water bowl and the edge of the pen, but her back legs were splayed out behind her. The internet told Derek that this meant she was relaxed and happy, and he felt relief sweep through him. 

But then he registered the rapid heartbeat of Stiles’ that usually preceded panicked words about some supernatural threat. He was on his feet in seconds, disturbing Coney when he shot up quickly, and she scattered, limbs flying as she tried to gain traction and ran for the side of the pen farthest away from him and curled her body up. 

Derek’s could feel his urge to shift rising to the surface. He’d been fearing all of this quiet was too good to be true. He’d even thought about getting a job or something people normally did (what his life was _supposed_ to be like). 

When Stiles stumbled down the steps after he pulled the metal door back, Derek could feel that his eyes were a bright blue staring back at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Throw it all away!” Stiles yelled, grinding his feet to a halt. “We need a _complete_ —” his words stuttered as he looked around the room. “… overhaul… what…?”

Derek looked behind him at what Stiles’ attention was caught on, and it was the pen. Derek felt his irritation building, because he was starting to think there wasn’t a disaster at all, and Stiles had worried him for no reason.

“Stiles,” Derek growled, and when he gained the younger man’s attention, he snapped his teeth at him, pleased when it made Stiles jump. “Is there an _actual_ emergency?”

Stiles used both hands to gesture towards the pen. “Not anymore! Cause I started getting super curious after all the stuff we looked up yesterday, so after school I started researching and _man_. The capitalists did it again. But then I thought of poor baby Coney and that maybe you didn’t know, so I raced over here to tell, um, you, but apparently you knew.”

Derek didn’t tell him he had his revelation less than twenty-four hours ago himself. 

“Just to reiterate, you drove here stinking of panic which nearly drove _me_ into a panic and scared Coney, all for nothing?”

Stiles shuffled, and he started to smell embarrassed, so Derek lightened up, dropping his shoulders and sinking back down onto the couch.

“Not _nothing_ ,” Stiles grumbled, plopping down right ( _right_ ) next to him on the couch. “I was worried.”

“Because you didn’t want me to fuck her up any worse?” Derek accused self-deprecatingly, sinking further into the cushions. 

Stiles just gave him a weird look, though, and said, confused, “Uh, no, dude, what? You weren’t—” He sighed. “I was worried for _you_ , idiot.”

Derek gave him an arched-eyebrow look. “For me? I know we joked about her biting, but she is still a prey animal and can’t harm anyone. Though it would be my luck to pick the rabbit that would slit my throat in my sleep.”

Stile shivered, like he pictured it, and Derek did his best not to visualize what he imagined. 

“Not worried, like, life and death, which is crazy weird considering all of our previous interactions.”

Derek snorted and Stiles beamed at him.

“I guess worried isn’t the right word. But I wanted this to be a good experience for you, you know? Something good, another friend in this quiet place. Though picking the silent animal is equally as unproductive as it is the most perfect choice for you. And I don’t know what’s going to happen in this literally bat-shit insane town, but over the last year I’ve realized that what’s important is recognizing the good you have while you have it, and focusing on that.”

Derek glanced over at him, and Stiles had a soft smile on his face as he looked at Coney, who was back to relaxing inside of her box, her head poking out of one of the holes and the rest of her hidden from view. 

“So you were worried for my happiness?” Derek asked, for clarification. 

“And mine,” Stiles corrected while agreeing without words. “We were bonding yesterday, right Coney?” He directed the question towards the pen, speaking louder like she didn’t have giant ears she could hear from or could even understand the English language. Her ears twitched, though, and Stiles sat back, smirking, and seeming satisfied. 

“She’s happier,” Derek settled on after they both sat in silence for a minute. “I should have done more research before—” Well, he didn’t _have_ a before to research, he supposed, since he got her on a whim. Which, had he had the time to research, was also something he shouldn’t have done. At least he wasn’t trusting a living being to a child on a whim.

“You went with your gut. White rabbits are often abandoned, right? I read that earlier.”

Derek nodded. “That’s what they told me. So once I saw her…”

Stiles smiled. “There was no going back,” he finished.

Derek nodded.

“So _Coney Hale_. Is that all?”

“Is there something else needed?”

“She needs a middle name.”

Derek gave Stiles a look. “What? She doesn’t even need a _last_ name. Not even at the vet.”

Stiles pouted. “Dude, she’s part of the family now. You gotta give her a middle name.”

“ _I_ don’t have a middle name,” Derek pointed out, and Stiles looked surprised. “Not everyone does. The only name we needed in life was Hale.”

“Well,” Stiles said with a huff, “We are starting a new tradition, then! Homo sapien Hales may not need names, but oryctolagus cuniculus domesticus _do_.”

“What’s your middle name?” Derek asked.

“Nothing you need to know,” Stiles replied, the answer out of his mouth as soon as Derek finished the question. “So Coney Hale. You need something to break that up. Maybe a two-syllable name, to give it some bounce.”

Derek snorted. “Bounce.”

“Yes,” Stiles hissed. “I got the short end of the stick when it come to names, okay, so I have done research. And the best names are ones that flow off the tongue and have rhythm.”

“Your name, whatever it is, just doesn’t _flow off_ , as you so eloquently put it, of Americanized English tongues. That doesn’t mean in whatever language or culture it originally comes from it doesn’t sound beautiful.”

Stiles stared at him, lips parted and jaw dropped, and pink dusted his cheeks in what Derek hoped was pleased surprise. Derek ignored the stutter in his heartbeat, because it didn’t mean anything special. Stiles had always had a crazy heart (not unhealthy, just unpredictable). 

Stiles seemed to flounder for words for a moment, mouth closing and opening as his throat bobbed with a swallow. “That’s… yeah, thanks,” he mumbled, before he shook his head, and the blush on his cheeks was gone. “But rhythm is important. I think three syllables will be too much, because Hale is just one, so let’s stick with two. _Hmmm_.” Stiles tapped a finger against his chin and narrowed his eyes as he watched Coney make zero moves, like she would give him the answer with her mind. 

Derek jokingly said, “Snowball.”

Stiles’ nose wrinkled. “No, nothing cutesy. Coney is already a copout since it’s just ‘bunny.’ Or maybe ‘bun,’ since it’s shortened.”

“ _Usagi_ ,” Derek suggested.

Stiles shoved him in the shoulder, and Derek leaned away from the push as if it actually moved him. 

“No. Something else,” Stiles insisted.

Stiles started shooting off random names, and Derek made a comment on each one while watching as Coney gave up on a relaxing evening and hopped into her litter box, choosing to squat and munch on hay for the foreseeable future. 

“Harley. Maxi. Ronnie.”

“Why do these all end in _e_?”

“I don’t know, son of _Tali-a_ and brother to _Laur-a_ and _Cor-a_.”

“Touché.”

“Esme.”

“Wasn’t that a Twilight character?”

“Did you _read_ Twilight, Derek?”

“It’s a no, Stiles, next name.”

“That was a _deflection_ , Derek. You totally did!”

“Next!”

“Alice.”

“Like Alice in Wonderland?”

“Like the white rabbit, dude it could work!”

“But Alice is the girl, not the rabbit.”

“Dude, you’re killing me.”

“The White Rabbit didn’t haven have a name. There was the March Hare, but hares aren’t rabbits.”

“Coney Alice sounds too much like Coney Island, if you say it too fast.”

“Yes, that’s the issue… There’s no originality in Alice, anyway.”

“Taylor. Raven. Harper. Angel. _Angel_!” Stiles repeated with a shout. Derek opened his mouth to object, but Stiles hustled on. “Like Criss Angel, cause she’s a typical rabbit out of a hat magicians assistant, and it’s like reclaiming the stereotype or something!”

Derek wasn’t quite following, but he also didn’t really care so much about a middle name that would never be official in any capacity. And Stiles seemed genuinely excited about this name suggestion. So he said, “Sure, Stiles. She can be Coney Angel.”

Stiles pumped his fist and jumped off the couch. When that startled Coney into leaping out of her litter box at an impressive height and going on alert, he lowered his arms back to his sides. He walked slowly over to the pen and gently took a seat on the floor outside of it. 

“Hello Coney Angel Hale. See? Rolls right off.” Stiles did some sort of trilling maneuver with his tongue, and Derek looked down at his knees, forcing himself to not stare. 

“Dude.” Derek glanced back up after counting down from five in his head to see Stiles grinning at him, legs splayed out in front of him in the same relaxed pose Coney had been in earlier. “I’m _totally_ going to update your nameplate on your mailbox.”

* * *

After that, Stiles became a frequent visitor, appearing more days than not, usually spending the few hours lounging on the floor next to Coney’s pen and bothering her until she either thumped, signaling her anger, or ran away. 

Stiles had stolen (the) two pillows from Derek’s bed to lounge over until the rug Derek purchased came in. They both rolled it out after scooting the pen over towards the bed, which Coney _hated_. But once everything was back in its normal spots, she seemed to love the traction under her feet and ran, truly ran, for the first time, at least that Derek had seen. She spun in circles, her back legs kicking up as she zoomed from one end of the pen to the other.

“She’s doing zoomies!” Stiles exclaimed, and he had his phone out and was reading off of it. “They also do things like binkies, which are super high jumps which means she’s happy. But in general this is a great sign!”

Derek tried not to visibly preen, but the grin Stiles was sporting seemed to show he had failed.

The carpet was a great choice. Not only did Stiles (and Derek, when Stiles wasn’t around) have a much more comfortable seating arrangement (and could stop stinking up Derek’s pillows— he was finding it difficult to sleep on days where Stiles borrowed them), but Coney was much more confident with her moves, jolting forward every time Derek approached with a bowl full of fresh greens (and a baby bit of pellets for extra nutrition) for breakfast and dinner, staring up at him expectantly and literally leaping for the bowl as he lowered it. He had learned to quickly pull his hand back, something he didn’t think he would be able to do without werewolf abilities, so that she didn’t take his hand off in her eagerness to devour leaves. 

Coney was quick to adapt to her new living situation. She was an immediate master of her new bigger litter box, and Derek was relieved he didn’t have to try any of the tricks he read online to get her used to peeing in it. 

He did, however, continued to read up on the best indoor rabbit living situations, and though he didn’t trust Coney enough yet not to bite his coffee table legs or disappear under his bed and never come out again, he wanted to eventually move her up to being more of a free-roam bunny. 

She also was warming up to _him_. She rarely gave him the Angry Alpha Eyes (as dubbed by Stiles) anymore and would actually approach him when he walked by, rather than run away. 

But, with all steps forward, came the two steps back.

_“She_ ate _it?”_ Stiles asked, sounding incredulous.

Derek had had his fingers pinched over the bridge of his nose since he arrived home fifteen minutes ago and saw the disaster and now moved to massaging his temples, because the stress headache was actually forming, and that was an impressive thing for a werewolf to get. 

“She chewed a hole down to the concrete. I was gone an _hour_ , maybe two. I don’t even…” Derek trailed off, looking at the mess in front of him.

Coney had her ears back against her head, like she knew she’d done something wrong and was feeling guilty. 

_“I’ll be by in a bit. I need to see this.”_

Stiles hung up on him, and Derek rolled his eyes as he lowered the phone from his ear. 

At the edge of the pen on the side closest to her hidey-hole cardboard box (which was _meant_ to be chewed, dammit Coney Angel) was a hole in the carpet. Fibers spilled out of frayed edges where Coney had ripped a hole with her teeth and chewed along the pen’s wall. Thankfully, it looked like all of the carpet was just shredded in and around the hole that exposed the floor, and none of it was consumed. That definitely would have caused intestinal blockage.

Jesus, was Derek ever going to get this right, or was he bound to kill this bunny before the month was out?

Derek had cleaned up the chewed-up pieces of fabric that used to be carpet and scooted the pen so that it no longer hovered over the hole, but he knew the solution was only temporary. 

Stiles arrived a while later as he said he would, stinking of sweat and grass and teenagers, so he must have come straight from lacrosse practice.

“You could have showered,” Derek commented, nose scrunched up.

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look, tossed his duffel and crosse onto the couch, and crossed the room. “I’ll shower in a minute. I wanna talk to the little jailbreak.”

Stiles crouched down in front of the pen, Coney hopping over to him like she always did when he visited, and he gave her a stern look and waggled his finger. “Now, missy, I named you Angel, but you were a devil today. Do you see what you did to your daddy’s carpet? That’s a _bad_ bunny!”

Derek tried not to react to Stiles’ words, but he covered his mouth with a hand just in case. He may be forever grateful that Stiles never ended up bitten over the course of the last two years. He would be a menace as a werewolf and Derek would lose all sense of pride if Stiles had the ability to read his scent. 

“Look at this hole!” Stiles gestured to it with a waving hand. “That’s _insane_ , Coney! You can’t bite carpet! What, your little home isn’t good enough for you? This is the _Ritz_ in comparison to that tiny cage, okay? You are living it _up_. Be grateful, okay. And stop wrecking Derek’s shit.”

Derek couldn’t help but chuckle a little, feeling a small bit flattered at how Stiles was standing up for him. Against a rabbit, but still. 

“It’s her shit, technically,” Derek clarified. “The rug was because of her.”

“Well you _bought_ it,” Stiles declared, and then pointed at Coney who flinched at the sudden movement. “Don’t do it again.”

“I think the carpet was the problem, Stiles,” Derek said, feeling the weariness creeping back up. “She could have choked on it.”

Stiles sighed heavily, and Derek glanced at him. He expected irritation but found Stiles looking concerned instead. “Derek, she is fine.”

“I know that, I can hear her heartbeat,” Derek countered with a gesture of his hand. 

“I’m sure this isn’t an anomaly. Bunnies chew, we knew this. We just have to…find a carpet that either she won’t chew or one that will be safe for her to chew.”

Derek glanced down at his feet. “I did like that grass-woven one. But she’ll definitely eat it.”

“Then we find something different!” Stiles threw his hands up, like the solution was as simple as that.

And maybe it was. 

Stiles disappeared up the stairs with his lacrosse bag a minute later, and Derek listened as the pipes groaned and the shower hissed to life. Derek stared at the hole in the carpet and wondered when his life had become _this_. 

When he returned, smelling of Derek’s shampoo and wearing fresh clothes he must have packed, Stiles pushed Derek down onto the carpeted floor, back to the pen, and plopped his laptop in his lap. The younger man then sat down right next to him, their shoulders brushing, and gestured dramatically to the computer. “Let’s shop!” A drop of water rolled down his forehead from his lazily dripping hair. Derek didn’t brush it away, but he wanted to. 

They argued back and forth on a few different options. Derek still liked the grass-woven one but knew it would be a chew toy as long as Coney had it in her head that her floor was to be chewed, so they looked for tougher options.

“Something without fibers, like rubber mats. But thick enough she can’t bite through them. Maybe those foam puzzle piece things?”

Derek nodded, going back to the previous page that showed similar items.

“‘s a shame about this carpet, it’s still nice.” Stiles ran his hand over the woven strands of multicolored earth tones. “Maybe you could move it in to the living area. Hide the hole underneath the couch.”

Without looking up from the screen, Derek asked, “Are you volunteering to move not only the carpet but also my couch?”

“Well I obviously wouldn’t do any of the _moving_ ,” Stiles declared, falsely scandalized. “I’ll let your werewolf strength do the work and direct from the back.”

“Ah, of course,” Derek replied with a snorted half-laugh. “Because that’s a vital role.”

“It is!” Stiles insisted. “What if the angle of the couch gets all fucked up? Then the view of the TV is skewed, and you know you can never tell if anything is level when you’re the one placing it.”

“Well I clearly stand corrected, despite the fact that I don’t even _have_ — Ooh, hey, what about these?” 

Derek glanced up to see Stiles’ reaction to what was on the screen and found himself at the center of attention. Stiles had a smile on his face, eyes soft with wrinkles in the corners, and his shoulder burned against Derek’s.

“I missed you,” Stiles said on an exhale, and then froze, like he hadn’t meant to speak.

Derek would admit to himself that while he’d been away from Beacon Hills, taking care of Cora and dealing with his own shit, he hadn’t thought of Stiles often. He did everything to think of anything but Beacon Hills, though, to be fair. 

But once he got back to a too-large empty loft that smelled like old blood and dust, all bets were off, and he had a lot of thoughts. 

“I missed you too,” he said sincerely, and then dragged his gaze away. “So these are nice and thick and the reviews say they interlock tightly so there’s less of a chance of her pulling them apart. Or if she can, hopefully it will take too much effort and she’ll give up.”

Stiles stayed quiet as Derek browsed through the color and texture choices, but eventually cleared his throat and replied, “I think the light blue is nice. It’d be easy to see droppings and hay on it so clean up is easier than the darker colored ones.”

Derek didn’t say anything when Stiles pressed into Derek’s space, leaning over to poke the screen and make some comment, and then never moved back. He stayed with his chest against Derek’s bicep, head basically hooked over his shoulder, and Derek didn’t say a word even when the store disappeared from the screen, purchase made, and they moved to watching some superhero move on Netflix.

The only time they moved was when the pizza Stiles had phone-ordered arrived, and Stiles groaned as he stood to get it, pushing Derek’s shoulder back down as he tried to stand, telling him he had to keep watching. In less than a minute, Stiles was back, pizza box in hand, a bowl of lettuce and pellets for Coney, and a roll of paper towels tucked under an arm. They balanced the pizza box on their knees and moved the laptop to the floor next to Derek’s legs, closest to the pen, so that Coney could see the movie too. Even if she’d been a bad girl, she still deserved dinner entertainment.

Or so Stiles said, and Derek didn’t argue.

* * *

It took a few days, but eventually the new flooring tiles arrived, and Derek built the pieces together one at a time, lifting up the walls of the pen to place tiles underneath. Coney hopped around his feet, intrigued as to what he was doing, and probably upset that he was touching and moving things that weren’t supposed to move. He had to be careful with each step, because she was deceptively fast and silent when she shifted.

Stiles came over after school, which was becoming a usual occurrence that Derek was silently pleased by, and praised his work. 

“Not as comfortable to sit on as the carpet, but my butt can suffer,” Stiles commented, a hand on his heart like he would go to war with the floor if it meant keeping Coney from eating it.

The flooring worked out really well, and Stiles did end up directing Derek on how best to situate the carpet so that the hole would never be discovered under the couch. 

“Still can’t believe you never had carpet anywhere in this place until now,” Stiles said out of the blue, an hour or so later, his school books spread out around him on the couch and the coffee table as he studied for his last semester midterm exams. “The floor gets cold, Derek.”

Derek shrugged, his own reading (for pleasure, god bless not being a high school student) open in his lap. “Doesn’t bother me.”

“But other people may have opinions. Like _me_.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Well, you would be the first.” He raised his book back up to continue reading and mumbled, “Not like _anyone else_ is here to give an opinion.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, for a moment, but Derek could hear the hitch in Stiles’ breathing, meaning that he’d caught Derek’s little comment. And Stiles never left anything like that alone, so… 

“So uh.” There it is. “Is Braeden. Did she—?”

Stiles didn’t want to finish a sentence, apparently, but Derek could guess the missing words. “She had her mission, and I wanted to come back. I told her if she needs help to call, but I don’t think she’ll be needing Beacon Hills’ assistance.”

He wasn’t sure that was the answer Stiles was looking for, but it was the only answer Derek had to give. Derek had a few questions of his own. Things had certainly calmed and changed in the last half of a year. But he would wait for Stiles to explain, because Derek didn’t even know where to start forming any words for his questions, let alone half-statements. 

“Coney is the only housemate I can stand,” Derek added after a minute. He grinned at Stiles, showing off his teeth. “She’s _silent_.”

Derek got a highlighter cap to the eye. “Rude!”

* * *

But Coney was not done with her magic tricks, unfortunately, because Derek woke up a few mornings later, after being lulled into a false sense of security, to find a rabbit bunching up the bed sheets around his feet.

“How…” He blinked sleep out of his eyes, and he turned onto his back, looking down. Coney froze at the sound of movement and then bolted off of the bed and Derek lost sight of her.

It took Derek the better part of fifteen minutes after waking up fully, to chase her down. He knew exactly where she hid herself, by scent. First, she went under the bed, then when he stood off of it and lowered himself to the floor, she skittered across the concrete all the way into the kitchen, and then when Derek closed in on her, she escaped into the living area, finding her favorite chewable rug and ducking under the coffee table to curl up and hide. Everywhere she went, she kept leaving droppings each time Derek startled her, and Derek could picture the hilarious story this would make for Stiles, and the way Stiles would laugh high and free. 

Derek eventually came to his senses and quickly sliced up a banana, leaving tiny bits of the fruit in a line from the coffee table to coax her out. It worked, once he stepped out of her view point. It was carefully timed, Derek waiting when her head ducked down to bite into the banana to scoop her up gently around the stomach with two hands and quickly carry the thrashing rabbit back to the ground, in her pen.

Coney was pissed, and thumped the floor twice, but Derek gave her some more banana, which distracted her for the time being. He didn’t mean to reward her for being bad and escaping, but he was kind of impressed.

Feeling a bit haggard and still only in pajama pants, Derek surveyed the pen and tried to figure out how she’d gotten out.

The best thing he could figure was that she had used the cardboard hidey house as a step, jumped up onto it, and then jumped over the wall of the pen.

“You have so much room, Coney, seriously,” Derek grumbled. 

“You always want what you can’t have.” He said it, because he knew that would have been Stiles’ response. 

To combat the escape plan, Derek shifted the box away from where he’d had it against the back wall of the pen into the middle, hoping even if she could hop onto the box, she couldn’t hop up high and far enough across to make it out again.

He cleaned up the mess she left behind in her attempt and then huffed, hands on his hips, as he watched her lay completely content in the pen, like nothing had happened. 

Derek snapped a photo of the scene and sent it to Stiles along with an explanation of his morning so far. 

He received back a string of laughing face emojis, and when Derek’s heart leapt at the sight, he worried that he might be getting too attached. And not just to the rabbit. 

* * *

The next weekend, Stiles entered Derek’s loft, car keys jingling in hand, and announced they were going shopping.

“What did I do to you?” Derek asked, mocking pain, and Stiles sneered at him. 

“Buck up, Buttercup. This is a trip for Coney.”

Derek glanced at the hidden, most likely snoozing, rabbit, as it was mid-day and she usually napped from about eleven in the morning until midafternoon. “What else does she need?” Derek asked, curious and somewhat concerned.

“It’s not a need, exactly, but you have the means,” Stiles declared, and pointed to the large wall of windows behind the pen. “Derek, you have a veranda back there that is just empty and sad. You don’t even use it.”

“Neither can Coney,” Derek pointed out.

Stiles held up a finger “Ah-ah! That’s where you’re somewhat wrong. _She_ can’t, but _we_ can _for_ her.”

Derek rubbed his forehead. “Stiles, make sense.”

“An herb garden, dude.” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows up and down, arms outstretched. “Think: fresh mint, basil, parsley, _rosemary_ , anything! You’d be growing your own food for her, or some of it, and in the long run you’d save money too.”

Derek had read up on that, the best herbs to grow to mix in with your bunny’s meals, but he hadn’t considered doing it himself. He wasn’t hurting for cash, and he didn’t mind buying everything fresh. 

But Stiles looked and smelled excited, though tinges of anxiety were escaping the longer Derek went without answering. 

“If it all dies, it’s on you,” Derek pointedly said, but reached for his jacket. 

“Don’t worry, wolfy, we’ll get you all decked out on the best planting system,” Stiles promised, but Derek knew this was all going to be on his dime.

But he also knew that whatever Stiles wanted, Derek would get without question. He really had gotten very weak for this human, when there were no threats to be concerned about. Though he suspected that even if there had been threats, he would have still found himself wrapped around his finger. 

Stiles ducked out onto the veranda with a measuring tape he pulled out of somewhere and came back a few minutes later with notes jotted down on his phone.

Stiles wanted to drive, but then Derek pointed out that the Toyota had more space than the Jeep, and when Stiles eyed the backseat, Derek could see the possibilities sparking in those brown eyes, and he almost regretted bringing it up. 

They ended up in the gardening center of the local hardware store, Derek pushing the flat pallet cart that Stiles had already loaded up with two bags of soil.

“So the planter has to have good drainage,” Stiles was saying. “I think because of the size of the veranda we should go with something rectangular with separated sections, or maybe several square pots that look cohesive, so that everything will fit and look nice, because aesthetics are important.”

Derek directed them towards the sign that hovered above a display of ceramic pots and let Stiles go free. 

Derek looked around at all the available options, but he wasn’t picky on colors or shape or any of it. He did like the idea of getting up in the morning and plucking fresh food for Coney to enjoy. He liked providing for her. It wasn’t the same as any family or pack dynamic he’d ever had before, but he was really starting to think maybe his gut reaction to seeing Coney and taking her home had been the right move all along. 

He’d sent pictures to Cora a few days ago, because Stiles had been appalled when Derek had told him Cora didn’t know about Coney, and demanded that family photos had to be taken.

“You have to document this shit, Derek! They grow up so fast!”

“I don’t think Coney is going to get _that_ much bigger, Stiles.”

“Just humor me,” Stiles had responded, so Derek did.

Cell phones cameras weren’t great with werewolf eyes, even with the flash turned off, but Stiles got it to happen anyway. He’d ordered Derek to sit in the pen, something he’d only done a few times because he felt so large inside Coney’s small space and didn’t want her hating him for taking up so much of it.

But Stiles argued the pictures would be better if there wasn’t a wall between them, and Derek couldn’t disagree. 

So Stiles hovered over the pen with his phone out, poised and ready, his tongue sticking out of his lips just a bit. For the first few minutes, Coney stared at Stiles warily, but she eventually noticed Derek sitting there with his legs crossed underneath him and started nosing at his legs. 

Stiles snapped away as Derek watched with bated breath as Coney lifted her front legs up onto his knee, sniffed around, her whiskers brushing his skin, and then hopped down to journey around his body. She nudged at his back, and he sat up straight so that she had enough room to circle behind him. 

She did the same to his knee on the other side, found a piece of hay that was stuck under his foot, and nudged him with surprising nose strength until he freed it and she could munch.

Derek slowly raised a hand. Coney kept her body stiff and didn’t budge, mouth still, as Derek brought two fingers down onto her head and brushed them back across her ears. He did it again, and Coney started chewing again. Derek exhaled loudly, not even embarrassed to show how happy he was.

He hadn’t been able to pet her before. He’d tried, a few times, but he never wanted to scare her, and any time she flinched, he pulled his hand back and gave her space. 

But she hadn’t flinched that time, so he’d kept up his careful brushing from nose to ear tips and back until she hopped away from him towards the source of hay for more.

Derek looked up, and Stiles had a smile on his face that looked exactly like the smile he gave to baby animals. Stiles turned his back to the pen and lifted the phone up. “Okay,” he said, and his voice had been a touch rough, “Selfie time.”

It was an awkward photo, but Derek cherished it, and it had been his favorite of the ones he’d sent to Cora. It was currently his phone background. 

Stiles’ face took up almost one half of the screen, as he was closest, but he’d knelt down next to the pen and held the phone up and out so that the view was over the pen. He had a sly grin on his face, and his eyes were not looking directly at the camera, like he’d been focusing on Derek and Coney on the screen to make sure they were included. Derek had squinted his eyes, so that they wouldn’t cause the flare, but had a little smile on his face. Coney was in her litter box, munching away, but miraculously she was facing the camera, head tilted up, a straw of hay stuck out of her mouth, and her red eyes were shining with joy at devouring her food. 

Cora’s reactions to the pictures had been neutral, as most of their interactions were. They would never be close, not like he and Laura had been, but they were family, and they loved each other. And by reaching out to her, Derek knew Cora knew this was something important to him.

_You look happy, I’m glad_ , she’d responded.

“Derek?”

Derek glanced away from his phone lock screen, shoving the device into his pocket as he turned towards Stiles. 

“Since we were thinking of mint and mint grows like a weed, I think that should be in a separate pot, but the rest of the herbs would fit nicely in this larger plot,” he gestured to a two-foot long clay planter. “And there’s matching smaller ones, so maybe three small and one large? In the smaller ones we can plant whatever lettuce they have, hopefully romaine, and maybe some bok choy if they have it.”

“Looks good,” Derek agreed, and lifted the planters onto the cart next to the bags of soil. “I like them.”

The plants were easy to pick up, and before long they had everything loaded in the car (Derek had denied assistance form the shop helper and was given a raised eyebrow but no arguments) and were headed back to the loft. Derek did not look forward to getting the heavy bags of soil and fragile pots all the way up to the apartment, but he figured being the building owner had its benefits as he had use of the service elevator and abused it regularly. 

Even lugging all of the (trash) rabbit supplies had been a smaller haul than this. 

Despite it being his idea, Derek was surprised at how Stiles didn’t complain at all during the loading and unloading process. He rolled up his sleeves and began depositing soil into each pot to the specifications given by the workers in the plant nursery. Derek followed his instructions as he planted the seeds and the lettuce heads, and found himself really enjoying getting his hands dirty. It had been a while since he’d last done anything laborious (outside of running for his life), and the mundane task of gardening was quite calming.

“Well, you won’t have free food for a while,” Stiles said as he huffed out a breath, sitting back on his heels and brushing a soil-spotted arm over his sweaty forehead, “But a couple of weeks should yield results!”

“Thank you, Stiles,” Derek said, and it was a loaded compliment. “For everything,” he added.

Stiles’ scent turned sweet, and he sucked his lower lip between his teeth and nibbled at it, like he was contemplating something.

Derek felt the sudden urge to kiss him. 

But then the moment passed. Stiles stood, and as he passed by Derek to head back into the apartment to wash up, he squeezed a glove-covered hand on his shoulder. 

Then it was just Derek, alone next to the emptied bags of soil and cartons where the plants used to sit. The sun was very hot on his back, and he was no longer as comfortable as he had been a few minutes ago. 

There was a hand print on his shirt that he noticed once he shut himself into the bathroom to take a shower and rid himself of the cloying dirt. He hesitated before tossing it into the laundry bin, eyes following the long lines of the fingers. He crumpled the cotton into a ball and dropped it into the basket, feeling stupid and young, and unsure if he should be happy he _could_ feel that way or upset that he was.

* * *

In the last few days of March, Derek ran into the sheriff while doing his bi-weekly grocery store run that mainly consisted of different fresh fruits and vegetables.

John Stilinski took one look at his cart and said, “Stiles got you on the rabbit food diet, too?”

Derek felt his jaw drop in surprise, because he didn’t think he’d ever had a conversation with the man that didn’t involve peril of some kind. And apparently the man was aware Stiles was spending time with him. Derek would have expected, even accepted, suspicious narrowed eyes and vague threats. 

But, no. He got _jokes_.

“ _Ha_ ,” Derek choked out the laugh, finally, way too long after he should have. “Sort of?”

Stilinski had his eyebrows raised, not looking suspicious, but not concerned either, which Derek took as a good sign. Eventually, the sheriff turned and grabbed similar items to Derek’s to add to his own basket.

“He’s been trying different salads this week,” Stilinski said, and Derek was a bit confused as to why the man was still talking to him. “It’s taco salad tonight. Seasoned turkey meat, though, not the good stuff.” And he grinned at Derek, like they could commiserate together. 

“Good seasoning is key,” Derek responded, a neutral answer that was unlikely to annoy the sheriff or upset Stiles, if he ever caught wind of this conversation.

The invite came out of nowhere. “You should stop by, eat some of it.”

Derek stared like a deer caught in the headlights. The sheriff’s voice had only shifted just slightly from pleasant to authoritative. 

“If there’s no leftovers, I might be able to have real food for lunch tomorrow.” The sheriff winked, and Derek surreptitiously let out the breath he had been holding.

“Anything I should bring?” Derek asked, because if he knew Stilinskis (and he did, oh he did) there was no brushing off of this dinner invitation, as weird as it was that it was presented to him in the first place. 

“Just yourself. We’ll be watching the Sweet Sixteen game. Arizona vs. Ohio State. You like basketball?”

Derek swallowed the lump that had appeared in his throat. “Uh, yeah. Or, I used to. Play it. In high school.”

A hand clapped down on his bicep, and Derek miraculously didn’t flinch. “At least you’ll be able to talk with me about it. Stiles is more of a baseball boy, himself. But he tries.”

The sheriff sounded unbearably fond about it, and Derek didn’t know really what to do with that. 

“I’ll, uh, stop by once I drop my things off,” he gestured to his cart, “and feed Coney.”

“You’re free to bring her, if you’d like, I’m not allergic,” the sheriff suggested, and Derek visibly winced.

He then realized how horrific that must look and rushed to explain, “That’s kind of you, but she hates car rides, and it takes a very long time to get her into her carrier, and I don’t have a portable pen for her yet, and would hate to keep her cooped up in the carrier all evening because if I let her out I’d lose her in the house immediately.”

The sheriff didn’t look offended, but he did look surprised that Derek could string so many words together. Derek was kind of surprised too.

“If you’d ever like, you’re more than welcome to come meet her anytime, at the loft,” he added, hoping more words wouldn’t shock the man.

Instead, he got a genuine grin and the scent of pleasure from the man. And another clap to the arm. “Sometime I’ll take you up on that. We should probably stop loitering around all the greens, though, or the vegans will attack.” Derek barely held back a laugh, and the sheriff caught it and smirked. “We’ll see you in a bit.”

Derek gave a wave as the sheriff walked off. He was getting weird looks from other shoppers, so Derek vacated the vegetable section, snagged a bunch of bananas and a pre-wrapped bag of apples, and high-tailed it to the registers.

Even though the sheriff hadn’t asked for anything to be brought, Derek arrived at the Stilinskis’ an hour later with a bag of corn tortilla chips and guacamole, hoping to God that they were on Stiles’ approved food list for his father. 

The sheriff was the one to answer the door, and Derek could hear Stiles upstairs in the bathroom with the shower running. He was invited in with a smile, and the sheriff’s eyes widened when spotting his gifts, but there was no conspiratorial look added to it. So Derek figured he was safe from Stiles’ wrath. 

John (“Please, call me John, we’ve been through enough.”) started in with the usual small talk, “How are you”s, and it transitioned near seamlessly into who Derek was rooting to win. Derek said he had no preference, it had been a while since he last watched a game, and the sheriff had nodded in understanding. 

“I, um, almost played for Irvine,” Derek confessed, ignoring his internal demons shouting that he shouldn’t divulge such personal information. “When I was thinking of staying in-state for college.”

John didn’t ask, “Why didn’t you?” like maybe other people would have, and Derek was grateful. 

Stiles stumbled his way down the stairs then. His hair was still dripping over his shoulders, and there were even a few suds Derek could see he missed catching behind his ears. His clothes were sticking to his skin, like he hadn’t properly dried off.

“Derek! Welcome!” Stiles squeaked. He raised his shoulder to rub his ear after flinching, like he’d felt a shudder. Derek reached over and brushed the soap suds away that Stiles missed. Stiles stared at him, eyes wide, and Derek realized that maybe that was a weird thing to do.

He rubbed his hand over his thigh, as if to wash it off of his fingers, and said, “Thanks for having me.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! Dad _just_ told me,” he shot his father a look, which John shot back in kind, “that you were coming, but I made plenty! The meat should be just about done so we can eat.”

“Great,” Derek replied, voice a bit weak. Clearly Stiles hadn’t expected his presence, and he worried he was overstepping.

Sure, Stiles was welcome at his place anytime. Anyone was, though it seemed Stiles was the only one who wanted to. But maybe it was different the other way around.

“You guys go get comfy on the couch. I’ll bring bowls over. And I’ll make it a double for the big guy.” Stiles winked at him, and Derek felt himself relax. 

Derek followed John into the living room where the television was already on, the game about to start. John took the recliner, which smelled like his usual spot, so Derek took the couch, seating himself in the corner closest to John, despite the fact that it smelled like Stiles’ preferred seat, because he worried if he sat any farther John would think it was a slight against him.

“Who are you rooting for?” Derek asked, tipping his head towards the TV.

The sheriff grinned and shrugged. “Whoever is the most interesting.”

Derek laughed. “Works for me.”

Stiles made a quiet yelping noise in the kitchen that only Derek’s hearing would catch, so he called out, “Need a hand, Stiles?” He couldn’t see the kitchen fully from the living room, as it was hidden by a half-wall.

“Nope! All good!” Stiles replied, voice high. His heartbeat was steady, despite the tone, so Derek sat back and ignored the eyes John was giving him. 

Stiles joined them a minute after the start of the game, bowls and silverware clinking in his hands as he passed them around. He ducked back out and came back with a large bowl full of the chips Derek had brought and a smaller bowl in the middle with the guac spooned into it.

“Drinks?” Stiles asked.

“Just water is fine, thanks,” Derek replied.

Stiles nodded and didn’t even look at his father before bringing out three glasses of water, John giving a small whine at the sight but not outright complaining.

“You get chips, no beer,” Stiles said anyway, and he looked at Derek with a smile. Okay, good, so no ruining of the sheriff’s diet on Derek’s shoulders. What a relief. 

Stiles took the cushion next to Derek on the couch, and he sat with his feet tucked in, so that his knee brushed Derek’s thigh. But Derek didn’t mind, and he leaned into the nudge when Stiles brushed their shoulders together when he leaned forward to use a chip to scoop some guacamole onto his salad. 

They watched the game in relative quiet, little comments spilling out every few plays, most of them from the sheriff as he recognized the players and knew facts about them that Derek didn’t and Stiles didn’t care to know.

“Baseball is better,” Stiles said during the commercial break at halftime.

“Better is subjective,” his father replied, as if they had this debate often. 

Derek looked up from his salad when he felt eyes on him and realized both Stilinskis were waiting for him to chime in. 

Derek floundered. “Uh… they’re both very different?” he tried. When that yielded no results, he tried again. “Basketball is more fast-paced whereas baseball is a long-play. It just depends on what you like to watch more. I enjoyed playing basketball, but I enjoyed watching baseball.”

The answer seemed to be approved, and Derek shoved another forkful of dinner into his mouth before another question was aimed at him. 

Stiles nudged him in the side with his elbow, and Derek glanced over. “We should go watch a game together then, sometime. _Baseball_ , obviously.”

Derek swallowed his mouthful and tried not to choke. “Yeah,” he agreed, dipped his chin and felt himself smile. “Yeah, that’d be…fun.”

Stiles was doing that lip-bite thing again, and Derek wondered what he was thinking over now.

Derek nearly gave up on getting any resolution when minutes passed and the game recommenced, but Stiles suddenly blurted, “Will you come to our lacrosse game?” and Derek felt his heart fumble over itself as Ohio State nailed a three-pointer. “Coach promised I could actually play, this time.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. 

Stiles was rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding Derek’s eyes, and he smelled of embarrassment.

Derek could smell the surprise on John, meaning his father hadn’t heard this news. But why would Stiles not tell him first? 

“You want me to come?” Derek asked. He set his empty bowl on the table next to the chips and turned to look at Stiles.

Stiles was still not looking back, staring at Derek’s shoulder instead. “Well, yeah.” Derek felt his chest inflate with hope, like a balloon. “I mean, _Coney_ can’t cheer me on, so…”

And a pin went right through the thin rubber, and his heart quickly deflated.

“ _Stiles_.” John, apparently, recognized that Stiles hadn’t said the right thing immediately, and there was a scolding tone to his voice.

Derek clenched his fists in his lap. Right. Of course. His rabbit. The only reason Stiles visited the loft was to see Coney. All of their texting conversations surrounded her. Everything they did had to do with her. This wasn’t a surprise.

Fuck, Derek was jealous of a _bunny_. And he couldn’t even be upset over it because he liked Coney a lot too.

But he liked Stiles more. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Derek said to his knees. “I should go.”

“Wha— _Derek_!”

Stiles protested as Derek stood and headed for the front door, but Derek didn’t look back. He retrieved his coat from the rack and slid it over his shoulders. He fisted the keys in the pocket, felt them bite into his palm, and took a deep breath.

“Have a good evening, John. Stiles.”

He closed the front door gently behind him but then did nothing short of run to where he’d parked the Camaro down the street. He needed out of here, he needed to go home and sleep and forget he’d ever thought anything more of himself.

He knew he was falling into his self-loathing trap that pissed Cora off, and she would be yelling at him and stomping away herself if she were here. But she wasn’t here, and Derek really didn’t want to deal with this day any longer.

“Derek!”

Derek had his hand around the driver’s side door handle, and he almost gripped it hard enough to break at Stiles’ voice suddenly in his ear, at his side.

Stiles wrapped his hands around his free arm and pulled him so that they were facing each other, and Derek let him. He just didn’t have any more energy. 

“Dude, you have to talk to me here,” Stiles pleaded, and Derek raised his head enough to see Stiles’ chin and mouth move with the words. “What just happened?”

“Stiles, I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. We can talk later.” Derek bit the words out, and though they were part lies, he truly did sound exhausted as he breathed through the sentences. 

“Then why did you accept my dad’s invite to come over? He wouldn’t have been upset if you’d said ‘no.’”

“Because his invitation didn’t involve my _rabbit_ , Stiles,” Derek snapped. And maybe it had, a little bit, but even still, John had let him come in, treated him well…

Stiles’ jaw dropped, and Derek could see his tongue curling up and back, like he was holding back words or preparing to spew some. Derek raised his gaze and met Stiles’ eyes, and they were wide open with shock. 

Derek didn’t have the energy for this. He opened the car door, using Stiles’ surprise to shake him off, and closed himself inside. He curled his fingers around the steering wheel, let his eyelids flutter closed, and took three deep breaths. 

When he opened his eyes, Stiles was in the passenger seat, and he looked _pissed_. 

“Are you stupid?” Stiles spat.

And that was it. Derek was done. He flashed his eyes and growled, letting his fangs drop, and he snapped, “Get. Out.”

Stiles flicked him on the nose, and Derek flinched back in surprise. 

“No, seriously. Are you truly so stupid that you think I was spending so much time with you, _almost every day_ , because of your _rabbit_?”

“The evidence supports the claim, Stiles,” Derek shot back. “We only ever talk about her. Why else would you hang around?”

“I don’t just like you for your rabbit, okay?!” Stiles suddenly shouted, hands reaching out and grabbing hold of Derek’s face around his pointed ears so that they were forced to make eye contact. “I like… I like _you_.” Stiles sighed, let his hands fall as he leaned back, and ran one over his face. “Derek, you are _so much_ cuter than your bunny. She’s actually pretty tragic looking.”

Derek felt the immediate need to defend Coney, because traditional beauty wasn’t everything, but the rest of the words sunk in first, and he felt his werewolf shift recede. 

“I used Coney as an excuse,” Stiles admitted, face now in his hands. His cheeks were stained a bright red that Derek could still see even though it was dark out, the color arching over his fingertips. “I wanted to keep coming over, but thought that if I didn’t have a reason you might not let me in, so…” He shrugged. 

“So every time you messaged me—”

“It was a subject we were both comfortable with!” Stiles cut him off. “I thought it would be the best way to get you to start to talk, and then we could talk about other stuff. And it worked, and then I was even _more_ screwed because I wasn’t just looking for a new friend or a place to escape anymore, I just wanted… you.”

Well at least that answered a few of Derek’s questions, but also brought up a few more like why Stiles _wanted_ new friends, but that was something they could discuss later.

Derek took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Stiles uncovered his face enough to peek an eye out. “Yes?” he repeated, muffled.

“Yes, I’ll come to your lacrosse game.”

Stiles’ hands fell into his lap and he collapsed against the seat, still facing Derek, cheek mashed into the leather backrest, but it didn’t diminish his smile. “Okay. Cool, yeah.”

“And you can come over to the loft whenever you want,” Derek added. “For whatever reason.”

Stiles bit his lip. “I think I might overstay my welcome.”

Derek smirked. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder, and Derek joined his line of sight. The sheriff was sitting on the porch, watching them, but unable to hear.

“Wanna go back and finish the game?” Stiles asked, turning his head back around to face Derek.

“Thought you weren’t a fan of basketball.”

Stiles reached over and shoved his shoulder weakly. “I’m a fan of a few basketball fans, though, and think I can make the sacrifice.”

Derek leaned forward and kissed him.

Stiles squeaked in surprise, but the noise quickly evolved into a moan that set Derek’s skin on fire. But he only allowed himself to cup the back of Stiles’ neck and angle his head better and not let his hands wander any further south.

Stiles had no such qualms and had his hands under Derek’s shirt and up his back by the time Derek broke the kiss. “We have a game to watch,” he reminded, their lips brushing as he spoke.

“I’d rather play this new one, game just started, it’s called tonsil hockey.”

Derek snorted and dropped his head onto Stiles’ shoulder. His shoulders shook with his suppressed laughter. Stiles joined in a second later, and his fingertips pressed into the skin of his back as they supported each other.

When the laughter finally subsided, and Derek pulled back just enough to nose across Stiles’ cheek, his forehead, Stiles asked, “Is Dad still waiting?”

Derek didn’t even have to look up. “Yeah.”

Stiles groaned and pulled back, his hands leaving invisible imprints Derek suspected he’d feel for the rest of the night, if not longer. “Fine,” he moaned dramatically. 

“You are still in high school,” Derek reminded gently. “It’s a school night.”

“But I am eighteen and have been for a while now,” Stiles countered. “So I think if you stayed the night, he wouldn’t argue too much.”

“Do you think we can trust Coney enough to spend the night alone?” Derek asked, amused.

Stiles widened his eyes. “She might pull a Houdini on us, so probably not. Fine. Sleepover postponed.” Stiles poked Derek’s nose. “’Til tomorrow.”

“I think a Friday night sleepover will be acceptable,” Derek agreed, and then pecked Stiles’ lips just because he could.

Stiles shoved him away in a way that made it obvious he wanted to do the exact opposite. “Basketball now, snogging later.”

Derek popped open the driver’s side door and heard John scramble to get back inside the house. “Sounds like a plan.”

Stiles took Derek’s arm once they were back out of the car and wrapped it around his shoulders, tucking them close together. “Did you really almost go to Irvine?” Stiles asked, and at Derek’s surprised look, he added, “I heard you talking about it with Dad earlier.”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, I did. I’ll tell you more about it later.” And he was surprised to find that he did actually want to tell Stiles about his abandoned college plans. And maybe some other things.

“Cool,” Stiles replied, and John welcomed them both in once they re-entered, the door swinging shut behind them, with a shout of the score, as if they’d just taken a short commercial break.

* * *

Waking up with Stiles shouting at him was never the preferred alarm choice, but though it happened infrequently, Derek did like it better than other (deadlier) options.

“ _Derek_! Your rabbit ate my laptop charger!”

Stiles was kneeling at the edge of the bed, straddling Derek’s blanket-covered legs, a black familiar cord dangling from a hand. It did have an obvious chunk of the line removed, the white insides and other wires exposed.

Derek flopped back onto his pillow and yawned. “Oh no, she’s _your_ rabbit when she pulls stunts like this. _You_ named her after a magician, so those parts of her are on you.”

Stiles let out a huff of indignation and shuffled off of the bed, whirling the cord around his head like a lasso. “She jumped out of the pen, Derek. I don’t know how, but she did.”

“Did she use the box?” Derek asked.

“No, it’s still in the middle. Derek, I think she can just jump over the walls now. This is the third time she’s gotten out this week.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ abandoned pillow and tried to smother himself with it. “Fuck. We need higher walls.”

“I don’t know what you just said but I think she needs a taller pen, lovewolf.”

Derek forced himself to roll out of bed and stumble up the spiral staircase. “I’ll go get my computer from the office.”

“Well we certainly can’t use mine because it didn’t _charge_!”

Derek bit his bottom lip to hold back his laughter.

“She may be my problem,” Stiles grumbled, though Derek could still hear him, “but she has _your_ teeth.”

Derek came back downstairs much more gracefully than he’d gone up them, laptop and (intact) charger in hand, and faced Stiles who was pouting and glaring at Coney where she lounged innocently in her ineffective pen. 

Derek couldn’t help pulling him into a kiss, whispering “Good morning,” against his lips.

When they pulled away from each other, Derek knocked their foreheads together, similar to the way Coney would knock her nose into outstretched hands, demanding affection. “Sorry about the teeth,” he apologized. “It’s a Hale family trait.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's a joke about rabbits feet bringing you good luck somewhere, but Stiles resists the urge to bring it up until they've actually started dating. 
> 
> check me out for more at [redhoodedwolf](http://redhoodedwolf.tumblr.com) on tumblr


End file.
